Tag Archives: greedy

Greedy George

greedy

Gross!
Greedy
George gorges;
gulps gazpacho,
guzzles gingersnaps;
gives gargantuan groan…
gusts gigantic, gruesome gas…
gesticulates… grabs gut… goes green.
George gone! Graceless guests gawk, gasp, goggle,
Ghastly girlfriend gapes, gets giggles. Ghoulish.

~O~

I wrote this poem last night, for a contest which required  an etheree poem containing as much alliteration as possible. An etheree consists of 10 lines of 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 syllables.

To make sure I wasn’t outdone on the alliteration count, every word begins with G. I was quite pleased with the result.

When I tried to enter the contest, I was automatically  disqualified. The contest organiser had decreed that nobody who’d won a contest on that platform in the past 90 days was eligible. I think I’ve come 1st, 2nd or 3rd on that platform eight or nine times.

I thought I’d post it here instead. 

©Jane Paterson Basil

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Pool of dirt

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Hey Mr Gangsta – so you think you’re cool?
Dissin’ every lesson that you learnt in school
Mistakin’ your gun for a useful tool
Killin’ all your brothers like a misbegotten fool

you’re a poisonous grub in a pool of dirt
looking for a host, with no thought of the hurt
you’re one of many and you all breed like fleas
we need to find a cure for this virulent disease
doctor, good doctor please give us some ease
jab us with an anti-gangsta vaccination please

Hey there Mr Racist well waddaya know
Not very much, and it’s starting to show
You’re dissatisfied and your mind’s so slow
You blame our immigrants and whine for them to go

you’re a poisonous grub in a pool of dirt
looking for a host, with no thought of the hurt
you’re one of many and you all breed like fleas
we need to find a cure for this virulent disease
doctor, good doctor please give us some ease
jab us with an anti-racist vaccination please

As for the monster who would stomp on his friends
With his size ten boots, for his own greedy ends
Making more money with each law that he bends
It’s time for him to turn around and make amends

you’re just a poisonous grub in a pool of dirt
looking for a host, with no thought of the hurt
you’re one of many and you all breed like fleas
we need to find a cure for this virulent disease
doctor, good doctor please give us some ease
jab us with an anti-greedy vaccination please

Poor Mr Foolish runs along behind
Longing for escape from his thankless grind
His vision too tunnelled to consider mankind
He votes to drag his future into decline

you’re just a poisonous grub in a pool of dirt
looking for a host, with no thought of the hurt
you’re one of many and you all breed like fleas
we need to find a cure for this virulent disease
doctor, good doctor please give us some ease
jab us with an anti-foolish vaccination please

Written for The Sandbox Writing Challenge #46 A Question of Perspective. This week Calen asks us “Whom do you look down upon?”

Thank you Calen – I wasn’t sure I wanted to do this challenge, but it turned out to be quite… exhilarating. Yup – that’s the word  🙂

©Jane Paterson Basil

Essential Products For Modern Living

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Artwork by Jane Basil. Original image: wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c8/Rastro_de_Madrid_(España)_7.jpg

He looks like any other man
unique and different
like any other man
maybe his shoulders stoop
or they fling wide
His smile is one of a saint
or a scarlet horned demon
Tall he is
or possibly short
with gnarled smooth
long short fingers
on his changeling hand.

Multiplied a million times
he cries out his wears
as
the table groans
beneath the weight
of a thousand temptations.

Our designer heels
press dents
into the hungry soil
compacting it
as
unheard
it whimpers its plea
for worms to fluff it
for humus to feed it
for grass to protect it
for redemption
from its gritty sterility.

We marvel
at the colourful spectacle
as
a myriad of accessories
for graceful living
unfold before our greedy eyes
in this essential
bizarre bazarre
longed for for so long

stalls stretch to the horizon
visibility marred in places
by a contrary oak tree
if we cut it down
it will crush the valuables

we leave it
to starve

Neon lights
wink promiscuously
like pimps in pink cadillacs
they attract the eye
tickle latent lust
til you want a taste

but tasting isn’t enough.

How did we manage our lives before the invention of the designer handbag – before manufacturers created co-ordinated kitchen fittings and fiddle-de-dees?

“Look! There is the sweetest doorstop over there and who knows when I may need to stop the door from closing?”

“But it won’t match our living room décor.”

“It’s part of a range, so we could purchase everything.
I was tired of our curtains anyway.”

Somewhere
beyond our interest
another starving child
wheezes its last breath.
After a moment of silence
the mother screams out her anguish
and a nation continues to weep
into the dust.

Somewhere walls crumble, crushing our dispensable slaves.

© Jane Paterson Basil